In Which Presumptuous Neighbors Prove to be Good for Something
by queen of the moment
Summary: When you present a small town with two men who live together and seem far too friendly, people are going to come to certain conclusions. It should have been expected, but it still sets Arthur on edge.


"The neighbors think we're _living together_."

Arthur's standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, glaring at Francis as if it was solely his fault that their neighbors would have the audacity to think the two fully grown men who were living together in a _cottage_, of all things, were partners. Really, of all the _nerve_; making logical assumptions, it was hardly enough to bear.

"But we _are_ living together, cocoette!" Francis protested; he knew exactly what Arthur meant, but he could never pass up a chance to tease him.

Arthur threw his hands in the air and stormed out of the room in exasperation, muttering about presumptuous neighbors and idiotic Frenchmen with their stupid pet names; leave it to the French to come up with the world's most nonsensical nickname.

They honestly had not meant to live together for so long; they were roommates in college and they had been unbearably impatient to finally be able to get a different roommate, but that was apparently never in the cards. After they had graduated, they were both broke so it made the most sense at the time to move into an apartment together. It was supposed to be strictly temporary, but the years had passed and soon they were moving into a nicer apartment. They lived there for a while, but when Francis had been transferred to his business' branch in the South Downs, Arthur figured he might as well go with him. He had missed the English countryside anyway.

Francis waited twenty minutes before he walked into Arthur's bedroom. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of his books. Arthur liked to rearrange them whenever he needed to think. Francis smiled and sat on his bed, remembering when they were at college; there had been one year when Arthur had been particularly stressed over finals and he had reorganize their bookshelves six times over the course of two weeks.

Arthur was ignoring his presence, though his scowl had grown far more pronounced than it had been when Francis had first walked in. He leafed through a book; Eliot, _Prufrock and Other Observations_; lightly brushing his thumb over a passage he had highlighted, before he closed it and set it upon the shelf.

Francis' is almost reluctant to break the silence. Even though Arthur is so obviously tense; they're both finding a strange peace in the stuttering sighs of turning pages and the solid knocks as the books are placed upon the shelf. Francis pulls a knee up onto the bed and his smile grows fonder by the moment.

"It makes you uncomfortable."

Arthur was surprised that he had spoken, and he let his arm remain stretched upwards for a moment before the set the book down with much more force than before. He still refuses to answer, so Francis repeats the statement again.

"It makes you more uncomfortable than it should."

Arthur still ignores him, but he's being less careful about putting the books back onto the shelf. Francis has already realized what the new order is, so he sees the mistake as soon as the book is set down. He wants to say no, no, _The Hollow Men_ goes before _Ariel Poems_, but he knows that will just make him even more tense. Better to wait for Arthur to figure it out.

"The thought makes sense under the circumstances, but it truly upsets you for some reason. Now, I can only think of two reasons to explain your moodiness." Francis pauses to cross his legs on top of the bed, and he can tell that Arthur is hardly paying attention to the books anymore; his attention is mainly on Francis, and the pause is making him tense.

"One, you are scared of being thought gay. This is of course ridiculous, because I know you _far_ too well. You are too obstinate to ever worry about some stranger's thoughts on you. The second option, well. _Well._ The second option makes much more sense, considering that it's _you._" He's purposely drawing it out in hopes of getting a reaction.

Arthur looks at him over his shoulder and spits out a demand. "Just get _on with it_." Even he can tell what Francis is about to say, and it's making him rather anxious.

Francis raises his hands consolingly before continuing. "The second option is simply that you wish it was true. You _want _it to be in a relationship with me." He doesn't continue, and even though Arthur was expecting him to say that, he's looking at him with shock.

Arthur stands up quickly, hoping to be able to somehow escape the situation. Francis watches him calmly from the bed; Arthur shifts his feet, runs a hand through his hair, looks at the door longingly, but he does not walk out.

"What do you think, Arthur? Would you like to try it out?" Francis smiles up at him sheepishly, but Arthur's face is still unreadable.

He steps around his little nest of books and Francis takes this as a good sign, even though Arthur has not agreed yet. He watches the wall and runs a hand through his hair once more. "We would kill each other in less than a week."

Francis laughs, taking both of his hands and pulling him closer to the bed. If that is the best argument that he could come up with, the battle was already won. "Alfred said that when he found out that we were rooming together in college. Fourteen years later, we are both alive."

Arthur hums quietly and looks down at their intertwined hands. "Who would have to lose their room?" He knew that Francis would want to share a bed, he was quite the nymphomaniac, and Arthur couldn't find it in himself to be opposed to the idea.

"You would, I'm afraid." Francis said, trying to soften the news with an apologetic smile and a reassuring squeeze of his hands. "After all, I have the master bedroom with that lovely bay window overlooking the garden. Your books can stay in here, though; we can make this your study."

"We'd be able to see the garden from the bed." Arthur smiled at the thought, gently wrapping his arms around Francis' neck. In turn, Francis wrapped his arms around his waist and grinned up at him, nodding that, _yes, they would, and wouldn't it be lovely?_

"We're going to do the garden together, right? You know that I want it to be a rose garden, but I suppose that I could make some room for your herbs." And there it was; maybe it wouldn't have meant much to anyone else, but they both knew that that was his acceptance. Francis laughed lightly and leant up to kiss him.


End file.
